


We Drank.  We Fought.  We Made Our Ancestors Proud.

by mountain_born



Series: The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [41]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Doctor Who/Avengers Crossover Fusion, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 10:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10534851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born
Summary: Phil is back at SHIELD, it’s Cap’s belated birthday, and New York is starting to bounce back after the Battle.  What better reasons for the Avengers and their allies to gather for a party at Stark Tower?





	

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, thanks and kudos go out to my beta, **like-a-raven** , not the least of which for making Valerie Custis and Meg Downing the well-rounded original characters they are. And for waiting patiently for _years_ at this point for a certain scene between the TARDIS and Jarvis.
> 
> Up until the eleventh hour, this fic was titles _What Heroes Are Made Of_ in the line-up. But as it sometimes happens, by the time the story was finished it had little connection to the original title. Apologies for any confusion.
> 
> The Avengers are still working out this whole "team" business, and when it comes to team-building, play is just as important as work. What says "play" more than a party at Stark Tower? Besides, you never know what sorts of interesting things will happen at a party.
> 
> Happy reading!

_July 2012_

_SHIELD Headquarters_

The downside to having a preternaturally accurate inner clock was that River was always acutely aware of when she was running late.

She hurried down the steps of the Administration Center, exchanging quick _hello-have-a-nice-evening’s_ with Agents Hayes and O’Brien. She was supposed to have met Clint and Maria Hill at the SHIELD subway station at six o’clock, which was now seventeen minutes ago. An inconveniently-timed clerical error had necessitated a side trip to Administration to sign off on some paperwork. Agent Herczeg was now officially on the roster to co-teach River’s espionage techniques class. _At least that’s one thing off the docket,_ River thought.

Her docket (and Clint’s too) had started to get a bit crowded of late, what with their new team assignment.

River walked quickly toward the Rec Center, drawing a few curious looks along the way. Talon was a familiar enough figure at SHIELD HQ, but high heels and a midnight blue silk cocktail dress were a far cry from her regular on-base attire. River heard her phone buzz and fished it out of her purse with a sigh. If something else had gone awry, it would just have to keep until tomorrow.

But the text was from Clint: _Lost? : )_

River smiled. Of course Clint knew she wasn’t lost. Thanks to her Time Lord DNA, River _never_ got lost. She texted back: _Blasted forms. On my way now._

“Agent Song!”

River’s knee-jerk response to hearing her name called was to try to escape and evade. She refrained, but a long stream of colorful, Anglo-Saxon profanity ran through her head as she paused and looked around to see who was calling for her. When she spotted the person in question, her eyes widened in surprise.

“Mrs. Andrews?”

River had first met Flora Andrews a few years ago on a SHIELD base in Sussex, England during a training conference. Mrs. Andrews was something of an old war horse in SHIELD Administration, and River had quickly taken a liking to the woman. She was both competent and cheery, and she spoke with a warm Scottish accent that took River right back to her childhood. They’d crossed paths a few times over the years on SHIELD business, though never here at HQ.

“Oh, dearie, you look so taken aback,” Mrs. Andrews laughed. “Well, I’d hoped to surprise you, and I see I did.”

“You did at that. What are you doing here?” River asked.

“I’m part of Operation Mayflower,” Mrs. Andrews said. “They put out word on the bases in Britain and I thought, why not? I’m not too old for one more grand adventure. I did always want to see a bit of the United States. I’m part of Agent Washington’s staff. I just started yesterday.”

Thanks to the Battle of New York, SHIELD Headquarters had found itself a bit short-staffed. A significant number of agents and staff members had been among the casualties. Workloads had doubled (even tripled) in some departments. SHIELD had opted to deal with the problem by reallocating resources from other bases.

There were a lot of new faces around lately.

“That’s brilliant,” River said. “I think you’ll like it. It’s very different from home, but it is exciting.”

“I can already tell. Oh, but I’ve caught you on your way out,” Mrs. Andrews said, seeming to take in River’s outfit for the first time. “Off on a date with Agent Barton this evening?”

“Sort of,” River said. “It’s more of a work function.”

The party at Stark Tower was actually many things. On its outward face, it was a party to honor some of the first responders to the Battle of New York: the police, firefighters, paramedics, and good Samaritans. Privately, it was a chance for the Avengers and some of their key allies to get together. 

“Well, you look lovely and I won’t keep you,” Mrs. Andrews said. “I just wanted to say hello. I’m sure we’ll see each other later on.”

“We will. You’ll have to come around for tea.”

It would be a nice little respite from the additional briefings and meetings that came with being an Avenger.

River double-timed it the rest of the way to the Rec Center. SHIELD’s private subway station was down on the lower level. Clint and Hill were waiting for her on the platform. 

“Sorry,” River said, joining them. “Getting over here has been like swimming against the tide.”

“No worries,” Clint said, sliding an arm around her. “If anything, we’ll be fashionably late. Stark would probably approve.”

“And your timing is actually perfect,” Hill added, looking up the track at the light coming down the tunnel. “The six-thirty run is right on schedule.”

The train pulled to a stop and River, Clint, and Hill boarded along with a handful of agents and staff commuting into the city.

“So, a party at Stark Tower,” Hill said as they settled into seats. “I feel like I should have packed extra ammo and bail money.”

“Eh, Fury will be there. We’ll let him handle the bail,” Clint replied.

“Hopefully this one won’t be quite as eventful as his birthday party,” River said. “I have absolutely no desire to search the city for a drunk Tony Stark in these shoes.”

“He wouldn’t dare with Coulson around,” Hill said. “Phil’s meeting us at the party, right?”

“Yeah. He flew in from Arlington this morning,” Clint said. “And he’s bringing a date.”

Hill’s lips twitched as she shook her head. “It’s definitely a brand new day.”

*****

_Brooklyn_

“Hey, Val?” Phil held up two dress shirts. “Blue or grey?”

Valerie leaned around the bathroom doorway, still fitting the back onto one of her earrings. “Are you really pretending that you don’t know how to dress yourself?” she teased.

“No.” Phil had been more or less successfully dressing himself for over forty years. “Just. . .enjoying having someone around to give an opinion.”

Someone who wasn’t Clint, whose contribution would have been, _Man, it’s a shirt. Just put one on._

“Careful there, Agent Coulson. People will think you’ve gone domestic.” Valerie’s tone said that she didn’t mind this one bit. “The blue.”

Phil nodded and hung the grey shirt back in his closet. It was good to be home again, and it was good to be here with Valerie. She had visited him in Brooklyn any number of times over the years, but, well, it was a whole new ballgame now, wasn’t it?

Valerie sat down on the bed while Phil finished getting dressed. “Well, now I’ll be able to cross _party thrown by Tony Stark_ off my social bucket list.”

“Said the woman who has literally been to dinner at the White House,” Phil said. “FYI, there’s no way in hell that Stark has forgotten that _paramour_ comment.”

“I still maintain it made you go up a few points in Stark’s estimation,” Valerie replied. She plumped a pillow up behind her back. “Do you feel a little bit like you’re about to go chaperone a school dance?”

“No?” Phil looked up from his tie drawer. “Should I?”

“Well, you always act like Clint and River are your kids,” Valerie said. “Now you’re the handler for all the Avengers, which kind of makes all of them your kids. They’ll all be at this party. Hijinks could ensue.” 

Phil laughed.

“Yeah, well, when I met Clint and River they actually _were_ kids. At least I thought River was.” She had certainly looked like one. Phil still occasionally had a hard time reconciling the fact that, technically, River was eighty years old. “Let’s face it, the only Avenger who really needs a keeper is Stark, and Pepper has that covered.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting Pepper. She has a hell of a reputation.”

“You two will probably get along well.” Phil contemplated his ties for a moment, then shook his head and pushed the drawer closed. He turned to Valerie. “Are you ready to head out?”

Valerie raised an eyebrow. “No tie?”

“It’s a party.” Phil shrugged. “Work tomorrow. Fun tonight.”

*****

_Stark Tower_

The party hadn’t even gotten started yet, and Bruce was already feeling awkward. 

Since his apartment was only a few floors below the penthouse, he’d wandered upstairs as soon as he’d gotten ready. Construction crews had been working up here pretty much day and night since the battle, repairing and renovating the place. Tonight was to be the new penthouse’s big debut.

When he arrived, Tony and Pepper were still overseeing the last of the set-up. The caterers were working in the kitchen, a Stark Industries event crew was bringing in extra seating and tables, and four people in party-wear were setting up what looked like a series of kiosks by the windows overlooking the balcony area.

“What are they doing?” Bruce asked.

“They’re from the Smithsonian,” Tony said offhandedly as he directed a pair of men carrying chairs to a far corner. “They’re planning to revamp their old Captain America exhibit and expand it to include the Battle of New York and the Avengers. A lot of it’s in the drawing board stage right now, but I invited them to bring some of their stuff from the exhibits up for the party. Sort of a sneak peek type of deal.”

“The Smithsonian does that? Hires out for parties?”

“When you donate the kind of money I donated to them, they do,” Tony said. “Oh, good. The cakes are here.” 

Given the amount of food that was already being prepped in the kitchen, Bruce couldn’t imagine why Tony had ordered not one but two cakes from a local Manhattan bakery, until he got a good look at them as they went past. The first one was tastefully frosted in chocolate and had, “Welcome Back, Phil,” written on the top. The other was a red-white-and-blue monstrosity, the entire surface of which was covered in candles.

“Really?” Bruce said.

“What? We missed Cap’s birthday, but that doesn’t mean we can’t commemorate the occasion, right?”

Bruce just shook his head. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Not that he knew what that might be. Tony and Pepper were directing the traffic and other people had the heavy lifting covered.

Tony put an arm around his shoulders and pointed him toward the middle of the penthouse. “Yeah. You want to go keep Aunt Meg company while we’re finishing this up?”

“Uh. . .”

Bruce didn’t get a chance to answer because Tony was already steering him over to where Meg Downing, former Director of SHIELD, was sitting in an easy chair, looking more than a little like a queen on her throne. He was surprised to see her here. Ms. Downing was a _very_ elderly woman. A Stark party didn’t seem like quite her scene.

Of course, this was the same very elderly woman who had commandeered a quinjet and flown to northern Manitoba to retrieve the Avengers after they (and St. Mark’s Hospital) had beamed back from the Moon. Ms. Downing had filled her jump seat on the jet with the same air of nonchalant authority as she did the easy chair.

So maybe, Bruce thought, he shouldn’t judge her by the standards of the average little old lady.

“Hey, Aunt Meg,” Tony said. “You don’t mind if Bruce hangs out with you, right?”

“Not in the slightest,” Meg Downing replied, setting her cup of tea aside on the small end table. “Anthony, was that a cake for Steve I saw being taken into the kitchen?”

“It was.”

“Really, Anthony.”

“I thought about getting him one that a girl could pop out of,” Tony said. “Maybe wearing one of those Captain America tour costumes?” He grinned. “Maybe next year.”

Meg shook her head and picked up her teacup again as Tony moved off. She looked at Bruce, who was gingerly sinking down into a neighboring chair. “After all these years, Anthony is still thinks that he can shock me. It’s adorable.”

Bruce smiled, not knowing how else to respond. He mentally fumbled for a topic of conversation. _I hear Tony’s parties are something else. Hey, thanks for coming to pick us up in Canada. So, do you happen to know General Ross?_

Okay, maybe not that last one. Bruce hadn’t caught so much as a whiff of the US Army since he’d been brought in by SHIELD, and he preferred to keep it that way as long as possible. Who knows? Maybe with aliens falling out of the sky General Thaddeus Ross had bigger fish to fry now. Bruce would be perfectly happy if he never had to set eyes on the man again.

Fortunately, Meg Downing spared him from having to steer the conversation. “I hear you’ve settled in very well here.”

“I don’t know that I’d say _settled_ ,” Bruce said. _Settled_ implied permanence. Even if there might be some truth to it, Bruce had an almost superstitious aversion to saying it out loud.

“You have a place to live. You have a job. Two jobs if you count both Stark Industries and the Avengers. That sounds pretty settled to me. How is Anthony as a boss, by the way?”

“Well, technically he’s not my boss. Pepper is.” Tony had been quick to make that point when he’d presented Bruce with a Stark Industries job offer. “He’s great to work with, though.”

Meg nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Anthony needs cool and steady heads around him.”

“I count as a cool head?” Bruce asked wryly.

“Of course you do. Your head has to stay cool out of necessity. Fortunately, Anthony’s always been drawn to the steady types. Virginia has done him a world of good. And, of course, Jarvis can always be trusted to be a voice of reason.”

“Thank you, Director Downing.” Jarvis’s voice seemed to come from their immediate vicinity, but, glancing around, Bruce couldn’t see a speaker. “It is always a pleasure to be appreciated.”

“You’re very welcome.” Downing smiled at Bruce over her teacup. “Jarvis’s human incarnation was also exceptionally level-headed.”

“Really?” That piqued Bruce’s interest. “Jarvis is based on a person?”

“Oh no,” Downing replied. “Jarvis used to _be_ a person.”

“I’m sorry?” 

“Edwin Jarvis.” Downing sipped her tea. “He was Howard’s butler. Howard met him during the early days of the war and helped him out of a very unpleasant situation. He was indispensable to Howard and he was practically family to Anthony. So, when his health began to decline, Anthony devised a way to upload his consciousness as a computer program.”

Bruce’s eyes widened with horror. “Are you serious?” 

She couldn’t possibly be. That sort of bio-technical integration was impossible. On the other hand, if anyone could pull it off, it would be Tony Stark.

Downing’s smile widened and her blue eyes actually twinkled with mischief. “No, not even a tiny bit.”

“You should consider this a forewarning that Director Downing is an extremely formidable poker player,” Jarvis added.

Bruce blew out a relieved breath that turned into a laugh. “I’ll consider myself warned. But there was an Edwin Jarvis?”

“Oh, yes. The part about uploading his consciousness was shameless fiction, but everything else was true. He was quite real and his wife, Ana, was a good friend of mine. We used to go to synagogue together.”

Bruce was just about to ask what the real Edwin Jarvis would think of being immortalized as an A.I. when a wind blew through the hustle and bustle in the penthouse, causing a few startled exclamations among the staff. A familiar pulsing wheeze began to build, growing louder and louder. Bruce had only heard that sound a couple of times before, but it was impossible to mistake. 

The TARDIS phased into existence not ten feet away from them. Even though he had seen it happen before, Bruce couldn’t help but gape a little bit. He didn’t know how anyone ever got used to that sight. He figured he should probably ask Downing, who watched the TARDIS materialize with an expression of mild interest, but no real surprise.

The TARDIS’s door opened and the Doctor stuck his head out.

“It looks like we’re a bit early,” he called over his shoulder as he stepped out of the blue box. “Ah, Bruce! Hello.”

“Hi, Doctor.” Bruce rose from his chair. “Good to see. . .um. Okay.”

The Doctor had apparently decided that they were close enough to leapfrog right over formalities. He wrapped his arms around Bruce in a warm hug, patting his back enthusiastically. Bruce wondered if Agent Barton and Agent Song routinely got greeted like this.

Hugging Barton or Song was probably much safer when you were immortal.

The Doctor let him go and turned his attention to Downing.

“And Meg Downing. Lovely to see you again.”

The Doctor took Downing’s hand, bent down, and kissed her on the cheek. And if that wasn’t the picture that should be in the dictionary next to “chutzpah” Bruce didn’t know what was.

“Doctor.” Downing looked amused. “A grand entrance, as always.”

“It comes with the vehicle. Is Nicky here, too?”

“He’ll be along shortly. I believe he had some work to wrap up. Hello, Amelia and Rory. It’s been quite some time.”

The Doctor’s companions had followed him out of the TARDIS, dressed for the party. Unlike the Doctor, they looked content to just smile at Downing from a safe distance.

“A few years, yeah,” Rory said.

“On the plus side we were actually invited this time,” Amy added.

“Yeah, Barton and Song told me how to get in touch with you guys,” Tony added, coming over to join them. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind being invited to a party? Never,” the Doctor said. “Well, unless it’s being thrown by Andrew Jackson. Those are best avoided at all costs. Tony, I wasn’t sure where I should park.”

Tony looked at the TARDIS and shrugged. “It’s fine where it is. People will just think it’s modern art. So, who wants a pre-party drink? Aunt Meg? More tea or are you switching to Scotch?”

The Doctor caught Bruce by the arm when he went to drift over to the bar with the others. 

“I’m stealing Bruce for just a moment,” the Doctor said. “We’ll be back in a tick.”

“You’re stealing me why?” Bruce asked as the Doctor pulled him inside the TARDIS. But he immediately forgot to worry about the why at the sight of the room he’d just entered. _Dimension slip. Damn, they weren’t kidding._

Bruce was so caught up in looking around the huge room that he barely noticed the Doctor flitting about, muttering to himself, until he reappeared at Bruce’s side with a wide smile and a large paper shopping bag.

“Found it,” the Doctor said, handing the bag over to Bruce. “A present for you.”

_Dear God._ Bruce opened the bag cautiously. He stared at the contents for a long moment. “You’re giving me a bag of pants.”

“I’m giving you a bag of _trousers_ ,” the Doctor corrected. “All the standard colors. Khakis. Some jeans. About a dozen pairs in all. I thought they’d come in handy, what with your condition. They’re made with Time Lord technology.”

Bruce looked up, confused, and the Doctor grinned at him. “They’re bigger on the inside,” he explained.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” 

Bruce felt his face turn red. His clothes were always the first casualty when he Hulked out. Bruce was used to it by now, just as he was used to the nude hangover that followed one of his episodes. It was far from the worst thing about his condition, but it had never quite stopped being embarrassing. He had been very grateful that his fellow Avengers hadn’t given him any crap about it after the Battle once he’d de-Hulked. Rory had just handed him his jacket to cover up with while Tony had gone to find him some clothes. The Doctor, as far as Bruce had been able to tell, hadn’t even noticed anything amiss.

Clearly the Doctor had been paying some attention after all because here he was with a bag of magic pants. 

Trousers. Whatever.

“Thanks.”

The Doctor just smiled. “You should have time to pop those downstairs to your flat. Fewer awkward questions that way. And then,” the Doctor straightened his bow tie, “party time.”

*****

_Stark Tower_

Clint had never been much of a party person, but he seemed to wind up at them a lot.

Over the years, he’d come to enjoy SHIELD parties. He knew most of the people and they knew him. He always knew where he stood and didn’t have to worry about making an impression on anyone. Plus, the food was good. 

Sometimes he got sent into parties undercover for work. Those were usually of the big, fancy variety, and they were only fun because he and River got to kick bad-guy ass (metaphorically if not literally) at the end of the night. Clint couldn’t imagine attending an embassy ball just to have a good time. He couldn’t imagine that _anyone_ attended an embassy ball to have a good time.

The Doctor liked to drop in on parties, dragging his human companions along for the ride. Clint had been to everything from Queen Victoria’s coronation ball to a Purim rave on a galactic-class starliner in the 36th century. Attending parties with the Doctor, no matter where they occurred in Time and Space, either meant a good time or fighting some alien menace that was hell-bent on killing everyone. Often both.

When River had been sent to spy on Tony Stark last year, she’d gone into vivid and gory detail in her report about his disaster of a birthday party. Based on that, Clint had been half-braced for something in the vein of a bacchanal, but in reality Stark’s party was pretty normal. Almost tame. Clint was even enjoying himself. So was everyone else, judging by his observations.

He could see the Doctor dancing (for a given definition of the word) with one of Thor’s buddies from New Mexico. The Intern. Darcy. It was a little like watching a pair of those giant wind-sock puppets flapping in the breeze, but they seemed to be having fun, and Clint figured that was what mattered.

Clint saw Thor and Dr. Foster on a nearby sofa. He smirked slightly as he watched Thor, dressed in human street clothes, figuring out his new cell phone with Foster’s help. The Doctor had provided the phone at a request from Fury. Fury wanted a reliable way to reach Thor when he wasn’t on Earth. Whether Fury could get the Asgardian to come when called remained to be seen.

“Hey, you’re up,” Rory said, interrupting his spying.

Clint reoriented his focus to his immediate surroundings. “So, where are you guys and the Doctor off to next?” he asked, lining up his next shot. 

He and Rory were taking a turn at the pool table. It was a friendly game, so Clint had handicapped himself a bit. Pool, like darts, was a game that played to his strengths. 

“Leadworth, actually,” Rory said. “And then home to London for a bit. I want to put in some time at the hospital before I start forgetting my way around.”

“What’s going on in Leadworth?” Clint asked. He knew the little English village was where Amy and Rory had grown up, but they’d lived in London for a couple of years now.

“It’s Amy’s parents’ wedding anniversary and there’s going to be a big party. The whole clan is going to be there.”

“There’s a clan?” Clint asked, straightening up and stepping away so that Rory could take his shot.

“They’re Scots. Of course there’s a clan.” Rory glanced up. “Does River have one? I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talk about family.”

_Yeah, man, there’s a reason for that._ Clint’s eyes flicked to River, who was standing near the bar talking to Hill and Pepper Potts. He smiled a bit, thinking of River having her own clan. Maybe one day she would, when things were all out in the open. After all, Amy’s clan was River’s clan.

“She sort of does,” he said. “It’s just that her clan is all SHIELD.”

“And the Avengers?” Rory asked.

“Jury’s still out on that.” Again, maybe one day.

Clint couldn’t help but think that it would be nice if things worked out that way.

*****

Phil Coulson had fond memories of his first and only visit to the Captain America exhibit at the National Museum of American History in Washington D.C. He had been twelve, and the tour had been part of a five-day field trip that his middle school had organized. Phil hadn’t really been into Captain America at the time, but his dad had been a long-time fan. Phil had paid enough attention to be able to describe it to his dad later, and used some of his carefully hoarded souvenir money to buy James Coulson a paperweight in the shape of Captain America’s shield.

A year later the exhibit had been shut down, deemed no longer relevant enough to take up so much space. A few pictures and pieces migrated into the other displays while the rest were packed away. A year after _that_ James Coulson had been killed in an on-the-job accident at the rail yard where he’d worked. 

That had been the start of Phil’s true obsession with Captain America. It had been his way of connecting with a father who was gone. James Coulson’s collection of Captain America comics and memorabilia (including that paperweight) had become Phil’s, and Phil had been adding to it, bit by bit, ever since.

He’d always regretted that he couldn’t go back to the Smithsonian and give the exhibit his full attention. Now he had a second chance.

Phil walked through the traveling displays the Smithsonian had brought up for the party. He couldn’t quite get over the fact that he and Clint and River were a part of this story now. He didn’t know exactly what his dad would say to that, but Phil was pretty sure he’d be proud.

He found River in front of one of the displays from the World War II era, looking at pictures of the Howling Commandos. Her head was tilted at a puzzled angle and she was frowning.

“River?”

River looked at him and the frown turned up into a small smile. “Hi, Phil.”

“Find something interesting?” he asked. 

“Just a random and bothersome case of déjà vu,” River said wryly. She nodded at the picture directly in front of her. “He looks like someone. I just don’t know who.”

Curious, Phil came over to join her. “Bucky Barnes?”

He knew this picture from the old exhibit and from at least three of the Captain America biographies in his bookcase. It was a portrait of Barnes holding a sniper rifle, set against a backdrop of forest, taken in the field in September of 1944.

“Do you ever see a person or a place or a thing and you can feel it jog your memory, but you’re not sure _which_ memory?” River asked. “It’s really highly annoying.”

Phil couldn’t entirely relate, but he knew that River had this issue from time to time. Phil attributed it to her unique circumstances; eighty years of memories hanging out in a sharp twenty-five-year-old brain.

“Maybe he just reminds you of Bucky Barnes,” Phil pointed out. “Hell, you saw the original newsreels back when you were a kid, right?”

“Maybe,” River agreed. “My friends and I always watched more for Monty, though.”

_“Monty?”_

“What? He was the British one,” River said. “Granted he was English and not Scottish, but at least he was from the right side of the pond.”

Phil rolled his eyes.

“Now, if there had been a Scottish Howling Commando,” she continued, “the war would have been over in 1942.”

“The Howling Commandos weren’t formed until 1943.”

“Precisely.” River’s grin could best be described as _cheeky._

Phil couldn’t quite keep a straight face. “Kid, you make me tired.”

“Sorry.” River threaded her arm through his. “Shall I make it up to you? Buy you a drink?”

“You’re on. Anything but Scotch.”

*****

The first time Thor had visited Midgard, his impression was that the world was a provincial backwater. That was the common Asgardian opinion of Midgard anyway, so Thor hadn’t been terribly surprised to find himself stranded in a tiny settlement in the middle of a desert.

He’d come to realize, though, that while Midgard might not be as advanced as Asgard, it was every bit as complex and infinitely more varied. Humans valued knowledge just as much as Asgardians. They had entire institutions devoted to the preservation of their history and the study of their world.

Valerie Custis worked for one such institution, the Smithsonian, located in the capital city of the United States. 

“Truly? They gather the bones of long-dead creatures and put them on display?” Thor asked.

“They do,” Valerie replied. “Well, the displays are often replicas, but the effect is the same. Do you not have museums on Asgard?”

“We have many repositories of knowledge,” Thor said, “and vaults of artifacts, but I think they are somewhat different from what you describe.”

“I always loved the dinosaur exhibits when I was a kid,” Maria Hill said. Thor and the two women were sitting in a comfortable grouping of chairs near the windows. “I grew up in Annapolis. It’s a city not very far from the place Valerie’s talking about. We used to go into D.C. all the time. My poor parents. I was obsessed. I bet I could still find my way around the Fossil Hall blindfolded.”

“It sounds intriguing,” Thor said.

“Well, if you ever want to see them first-hand, come to D.C. We’ll arrange a tour,” Valerie replied. “I work for the American History Museum, but I know plenty of people over at Natural History.”

“I would like that.” Thor chuckled. “Loki would laugh. He knows all of Asgard’s repositories inside and out, but he had to practically drag me to get me to visit them. He’d probably quite enjoy your dinosaur bones.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Thor wanted to flinch. Frigga had often admonished him for speaking without thinking, and no doubt this would be one such occasion. In fact, she’d probably be giving him the same mildly reproving look that Maria Hill was wearing now. Thor had no excuse. He’d been enjoying himself and just. . .forgotten for a moment.

He looked guiltily at Valerie Custis, hoping he hadn’t offended her too greatly. She was the consort of Phil Coulson, the man that Loki had almost killed. But aside from a slight tightening of her mouth, she looked perfectly composed.

“So, you do public relations for the museum, right?” Maria said to Valerie. “What’s that like?”

Thor kept quiet and listened to the women talk, paying close attention. He’d been introduced to this concept called “public relations.” It seemed to be a very important thing for Midgardians, making sure that people liked and approved of your actions. Even the Avengers, he’d been told, had a person dedicated to public relations.

After a few minutes, Maria was called away by Director Fury, leaving Thor and Valerie on their own. Thor cleared his throat slightly.

“Forgive me. I should not have spoken of him,” he said.

Valerie looked surprised, but then her expression softened.

“Thor, I’ll be very honest. I don’t like your brother, to put it mildly. But he’s your brother. You two have history.”

“A thousand years, give or take,” Thor said.

“Which is a lot of history,” Valerie replied. “I can’t speak for other people, but I won’t blame you for remembering the good times you had with him. That hurts you, not him.”

Thor relaxed. “You are a diplomat.”

“I am.” Valerie smiled. “And I’m someone who knows that family is very complicated, no matter what world you’re from.”

Thor raised his glass. “To our similarities, then.”

An ongoing partnership with Midgard might not be such a difficult thing, after all.

*****

Steve dutifully and methodically made the rounds of the Smithsonian displays, mostly because he kept catching two of the curators watching him from across the room, clearly waiting for him to go take a look. One of them had almost been bouncing with excitement.

The displays were set up in chronological order, starting with Brooklyn in the 1920s and 30s. The Smithsonian had actually dug up a few pictures from this era. Steve stood for a long time in front of his parents’ wedding portrait. He wondered how the museum had managed to come by it. He wondered who he’d need to talk to about getting a copy for himself. _Meg_ , he thought immediately. _Meg will know how to make that happen._

There was also a small handful of pictures of Steve as a kid and teenager. All the pictures included Bucky. _Captain America and his lifelong best friend._ Steve’s mouth quirked. He wondered if anyone had ever cottoned onto the fact that Bucky was in all the pictures because Bucky’s dad was the one who’d owned the camera. Steve had been an add-on in Bucky’s pictures, not vice versa.

The number of photographs increased significantly when the exhibits hit Project Rebirth. The U.S. Army had spared no expense (or film) in documenting its super soldier experiment. The Captain America war bond tour was represented by a collection of glossy promotional images. (Steve still cringed inwardly a little over some of those.) Then came the era of the Howling Commandos, leading up to Captain America’s “death” and beyond.

The preliminary exhibits for what came after were, well, very preliminary. It had been less than three months since the Battle of New York. The Smithsonian (not to mention the general public) was still processing a resurrected super soldier, a team of Avengers, and an invading alien army. 

His duty done, Steve retreated to a quieter corner and watched others move around the displays. He smiled when he spotted Agent Coulson talking animatedly to Ms. Custis as he pointed out various items in the exhibit. Coulson enthusiastically waved Barton over as well. Barton’s smile completely belied his reluctant footsteps as he went over to join them.

“Clint’s so happy to have Phil back I think he’d listen to his entire unabridged Captain America appreciation spiel. Which, for the record, is thirty-four minutes long.”

Steve glanced down sharply to his left where Agent Song had appeared without so much as a sound to give away her presence. 

“Did you know that Clint and Phil have worked together for thirteen years?” Song added. “Clint joined SHIELD when he was nineteen. Phil recruited him. He was Clint’s handler pretty much from day one. These past three months are the longest they’ve ever been separated.”

“That’s a long time to work together,” Steve said noncommittally. He was at a loss as to why Song was telling him this. Hell, this was the most Song had said to him at one time since their unscheduled mission on the Moon a few weeks ago.

Song and Barton had both gotten a little more reserved around Steve since then. There was no real animosity. They didn’t avoid him and they still talked to him, but they’d dialed back on the friendly overtures. Steve had been keeping his distance, too. He hadn’t attempted to apologize for the way he’d tried to shut down Barton’s strategy and Barton hadn’t apologized for retaliating with a few cheap (if painfully logical) shots. Personally, Steve thought that this was the way to go. Hashing it all out could just blow what was essentially a disagreement in the heat of the moment up into something that was more serious than it needed to be. But bonding with Barton and Song had kind of shifted into neutral since the mission.

Song looked up at him with a small crooked smile.

“Do you know why you’re the one Clint blew up at when we were on the Moon?” she asked.

_Okay, were dealing with this **now?**_ “Because I saw the sniper and dismissed anything else he might contribute.”

He was paraphrasing Meg—he’d already had this discussion with her. Song looked a little surprised at the prompt response. 

“Well. . .yes,” she said. “But Stark did that too, worse than you did. Even Bruce did before the clock started on the mission.”

“So I was the straw that broke the camel’s back,” Steve replied.

“Partly,” Song said. “But the main reason is because you’re Phil’s hero.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“You’re Phil’s hero,” Song said. “And Phil is Clint’s hero. It rankled more coming from you. That’s why he snapped at you.”

“Okay.” Steve thought he understood what she was getting at. It sounded like she meant that Barton cared about Steve’s opinion in a second-cousin-once-removed sort of way. “Can I ask why you’re telling me this?”

“Phil’s back. This whole team-building thing needs to start gaining traction again,” Song said. “I thought telling you might help.”

Song drifted away before Steve could figure out how to respond, departing as smoothly and as quietly as she’d arrived. Steve kept to his corner for a while, keeping an eye on the others. Eventually, Agent Coulson and Ms. Custis retreated to one of the sitting areas, settling down to talk to Rory Williams and Amy Pond. Barton had disappeared. Steve scanned the room several times for the agent before it occurred to him to look up.

Barton was on the second-floor walkway, watching the action from above. Steve considered for a moment, then headed up to join him, stopping by the bar along the way. Barton looked slightly confused when Steve appeared with two bottles of beer, but he accepted the one Steve offered to him with a nod.

“Hell of a party,” Steve said, leaning his elbows on the railing.

“Yeah,” Barton replied. “Stark’s kind of known for them.”

Steve mentally fumbled for something to say after that, something to fill the silence. He hadn’t exactly planned this conversation out. He was both surprised and relieved when Barton spoke up first. 

“So, I was checking out the Smithsonian stuff,” he said. “I’m not sure how I feel about being part of a museum exhibit, even if it’s just my code name. It’s kind of weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve replied. Off Barton’s questioning look, he went on. “The museum stuff all came about years after I went into the ice. Trip--my SHIELD liaison--told me about it back when I was still getting up to speed. It was weird, like you said.”

“More or less weird than the War Bond tour?”

“Nothing will ever be weirder than the first week of the War Bond tour,” Steve said. Not even waking up in the twenty-first century. If it didn’t involve back-up dancers, it paled in comparison.

Barton actually laughed, and this time when the silence descended it was more companionable than awkward. 

“Hey, can I show you something?” Barton asked after a few moments.

“Sure,” Steve said.

Barton pulled out his phone and started keying in what Steve assumed were several different layers of security passwords. When he finally found what he was looking for he passed the phone to Steve.

“Is this. . .?” Steve squinted slightly at the screen. “That’s you.”

He was looking at a photo of Barton, albeit one that was about half the age of the present version. The boy was standing on a patch of sawdust against a backdrop of striped canvas. This must be from his circus days, Steve realized. Young Barton was wearing a purple-and-black costume, and a purple mask was pushed up on his forehead, resting on a thatch of untidy sandy brown hair. He was holding a bow with a nocked arrow and was giving whoever had taken the picture a look of mild exasperation that was already oddly familiar to Steve.

“I was about fifteen there,” Barton said. “I’m guessing you read my file, right? You know about Carson’s Carnival?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied.

“I was _The Amazing Hawkeye_ for a few years. Had my own act. Marksmanship, trick shots, that sort of thing.” Barton took the phone back with a shrug. “Just wanted you to know that you’re not the only person with an embarrassing costume in his past.” He looked at Steve with a slight smile. “Don’t tell Stark.”

“I won’t. And thanks.”

_Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a truce._

Barton nodded. “I need to go find River. Thanks for the beer.” He held up for a moment though before he moved off. “See you around later?”

“Definitely.”

*****

Amy Pond was thoroughly enjoying herself.

Tony Stark knew how to throw a party, that was for certain. Everyone appeared to be having a very good time. Amy had even seen Nick Fury crack a smile. (Who knew the man had so many teeth?) That might have been because he was talking to Phil and Valerie. Amy got the impression that Fury was very, very glad to have Phil back on the job. As for Valerie? Well, she just seemed to be good at making people smile. 

Amy was at the bar, chatting with Pepper, River, and Jane Foster. Amy shook her head, laughing, as she set her glass aside. “Is there a lavatory or something I could use?” she asked Pepper.

Pepper nodded, turning on her stool to point. “Back down that hall, second door on the right,” she said.

Amy found the room easily enough. She was just washing up and thinking that she ought to go see what Rory was up to when the whispers started again.

She straightened up, looking at her reflection dead on in the mirror. Amy stared for one heartbeat, two, three, as the whispers grew louder. 

_It’s a matter of weeks now. Then the real work can begin._

Abruptly, a rectangular panel of mirror glass slid to the side, revealing a woman’s face which had become very familiar to Amy. It was pale and slightly lined, with dark curly hair springing around it. One of the eyes was covered with a black patch, the other was a hard, cold blue.

The woman smiled, and it did nothing to lessen the cold.

_Her time will be here before we know it._

Amy pushed herself away from the vanity and blindly scrambled out the door. Her back hit the wall opposite the lavatory and, without really wanting to, Amy looked back. The mirror was smooth and unbroken. No strange face in sight. Amy let out a long, shuddering breath.

She had been seeing that face and hearing those whispers for months now. Amy didn’t know what they meant, only that when they came she was overtaken by fear and dread. When they were gone again, it was like waking up from a bad dream. It was like someone shoved all the fear back into a far corner of her mind and numbed her concern until it ceased to even _be_ a concern.

But Amy knew, deep down under that numbness, that something was very, very wrong. Whispers from nowhere and mysterious faces appearing in walls and mirrors? That sort of thing should not happen. 

She’d been so close to confiding in Rory or in the Doctor any number of times. But every time she tried, she found herself unable to talk about what was wrong. Something else always came out instead. It was like the numbness stole her voice as well, soothing away all the worry until it was nothing more than a vague unease. And even that unease slipped aside as soon as the next distracting adventure came along.

Until the next time the whispers and the voices rose to the surface.

Amy was starting to think that she was losing her mind.

“Amelia?”

Amy started. Her heart, which had just begun to slow down, started pounding again.

Meg Downing was standing not six feet away from her. Amy had met Meg Downing once, the first time she, Rory, and the Doctor had encountered SHIELD. Well, _met_ was a bit of an exaggeration. It had been an “in passing” sort of introduction. Ms. Downing looked much the same now as she had then; neatly tailored dress, snow-white hair pinned up in a roll, and her hands were folded on the curved handle of her cane.

Meg gripped her cane and came a few steps closer. She was frowning. “Amelia?” she said again. “What’s the matter?”

“I. . .” Amy looked back to the empty lav. Still no face and no whispers. “I just. . .I just. . .”

_I just sound like a scratched up vinyl or a parrot with a speech impediment._ No matter how hard she tried, Amy couldn’t spit out what she had seen.

“You need a bit of a rest, I think,” Meg said. “Come with me.” 

She took Amy by the arm and began to steer her down the hallway, away from the party and toward the more private areas of the penthouse.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t--”

“Nonsense,” Meg said. For a tiny, frail-looking old woman (really, Meg Downing was easily a foot shorter than Amy) her grip was firm and so was her voice. “Anthony won’t mind. Right in here.”

Meg led Amy into a guest bedroom and made her sit down on the bed with her back propped up against the headboard. She disappeared into the bathroom and emerged a moment later with a cup of water. Meg handed it to Amy and sat down beside her on the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” Amy said a trifle warily. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve this level of personal attention from SHIELD’s equivalent of a queen mother. 

“You looked a little like you’d seen a ghost,” Meg said. 

Amy thought of the strange woman’s face peering at her out of the mirror and covered her shudder by taking a long sip of the water.

“I’m just not feeling very well.” For a split second Amy thought about trying to tell Meg about the woman in the mirror, but the idea seemed to slip away as quickly as it came, leaving a hasty excuse in its wake. “Open bar. Must have just had a spot too much to drink is all.”

“The hardest thing I’ve seen you drink all evening is a Coke,” Meg replied. 

Amy glanced up sharply. Was the woman monitoring what _everyone_ was drinking this evening? That hardly seemed possible, but Meg was right. Amy had been sticking to soft drinks and water.

Meg Downing met her gaze and tipped her head to one side. Amy got the feeling that the old lady was deliberately making a show of curiosity. That the gesture was calculated. Amy blamed three years of friendship with Clint, River, and Phil for this conclusion. The spy thing was catching.

“Which begs the question, why aren’t you drinking this evening?” Meg asked. “You don’t strike me as a teetotaler.”

“I don’t know.” Amy bristled a bit. “I just don’t feel like it, I guess.”

Meg remained silent and still, regarding Amy calmly. It was a little unnerving, not in the least because it looked like she could go on all night like that. Amy cracked after a few moments. 

“I just keep having this weird feeling that I might be pregnant,” she said at last in a rush.

The strange compulsion that tied Amy’s tongue when it came to the whispers and the one-eyed woman didn’t extend to this subject, though Amy thought it was just as insane in its own way.

“I see.” Meg looked thoughtful. “Are you?”

“No.” Amy shook her head. She set the cup of water aside on the nightstand, twisting her fingers together in an old nervous gesture. “I’ve been testing and testing for _months._ I’ve been to the doctor twice. Nothing’s happening, but I can’t shake the feeling. I dream about it sometimes. I dream that I’m as big as a house and I can feel a baby kicking away. Then I wake up and everything’s normal, but normal feels wrong.”

Amy wasn’t one for confiding in complete strangers, but it felt good to tell all of this to someone. She couldn’t tell Rory. Well, she _could,_ but she didn’t want to get Rory’s hopes up only for him to be disappointed. Rory wanted kids so badly. The Doctor? Well, he was her best non-husband friend in the universe, which made confiding in him and not Rory feel wrong.

Besides, the Doctor could be a little weird when it came to “little Amelia Pond” and anything related to sex. Amy swore sometimes the Time Lord still thought she was seven years old.

So, here she sat, spilling her guts to Nick Fury’s old boss and Tony Stark’s honorary aunt at a party for the Avengers. Because that was completely normal. Amy laughed, tipping her head back against the headboard.

“And then we have my parents’ big anniversary party to go to soon,” she added, “and I know we’re going to get grilled about grandkids. That doesn’t help.”

“Families.” Meg smiled faintly. “I’ve always thought it was interesting how the people who care about you the most can also hurt you the most without meaning to.”

“Your parents were like that too, huh?”

“Not exactly,” Meg replied. “My parents skipped the _caring_ part.”

Amy wasn’t sure how to respond to that and she was spared by a light tap at the door. 

“Amy?” The door opened slightly and River leaned in. “Are you all right? One of the waiters said they saw you--”

Amy was pretty sure she saw River do a quick double-take when she saw who else was in the room. “Ma’am,” she said, standing almost at attention. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Hello, River,” Meg said. “No need to apologize. Amelia just needed to rest for a few minutes.” Meg patted Amy’s hand, then pushed herself to her feet and reached for her cane. “I’ll leave you to your friend,” she said to Amy. “Stay as long as you need to. As I said, Anthony won’t mind.”

River held the door for Meg as she left, then came over to Amy with a concerned frown. “Are you okay?” she asked, sitting down in the spot that Meg had just vacated.

“Oh, sure,” Amy said, reaching for the cup of water. “The room just got kind of close. I was feeling a little dizzy.”

“And Director Downing. . .?”

“She brought me back here so I could lie down. She’s nice, yeah?” Amy raised her eyebrows at the look on River’s face. “She’s not nice?”

River looked like she was considering her words carefully. “Meg Downing’s nice the way that the Doctor is nice.”

“Ah.” 

In other words, the best of friends to those she cared about, a terror of nightmarish proportions to her enemies, and objectively neutral on most everyone else. Amy wondered how on earth she’d wound up in the first camp.

“Are you feeling better?” River asked. “Do you need me to go find Rory?”

_“No._ No,” Amy said. The last thing she wanted to do was worry Rory. “I feel fine. I’m ready to go back.”

“Are you sure?” River said. “You can rest a while longer. I’m sure Downing’s right. I really don’t think Stark would mind.”

“I’m good. Really.” Amy swung her legs over the side of the bed. She did feel perfectly fine now. The worry over the strange woman in the mirror and the whispers had already faded in her mind to something inconsequential and mildly curious. “Come on. We should go make sure the boys aren’t getting into any trouble.”

“If they are, I’m sure Phil will sort them out.”

“Oh, I was including him.” Amy grinned and wrapped her arm around River’s shoulders as they headed back to the party. “Come on, the last time that man was out of sight he got stabbed through the chest.”

“Somehow, I don’t think Valerie is going to let him run afoul of anything.”

“No, I don’t think she will either.”

*****

Tony Stark really was an innovative genius, the Doctor thought.

Of course, everyone knew about the technological marvels the man produced: the Iron Man suit, the arc reactor, the clean energy generator. For a human of the early twenty-first century, Tony was ahead of his time, no doubt about it. But those were the easy signs to see. The Doctor always liked to see the more subtle signs of original thinking.

For instance, the fact that Tony Stark, the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist had a board games station at his party? That was simply delightful.

The Doctor spent a collaborative half hour with Tony, Pepper, and Bruce saving a fictional Alaskan town from frozen zombies. It was rather like that time on the planet Yancen during the Mogbat swarming. Unfortunately, the game rules didn’t allow for the weaponization of an ice cream factory, which was what the Doctor had had to resort to that time.

“Well, it wasn’t so much the ice cream as it was the custard,” the Doctor explained as he followed Tony to the kitchen. Fighting zombies, even imaginary ones, was hungry work. The Doctor hitched himself up onto the counter while Tony started poking through the freezer. “One good sonic pulse to the reservoir and there was an absolute tidal wave of custard. It drowned the lot and made the whole place smell wonderful to boot.”

“Thereby proving that ice cream can really can solve everything. Ah ha.” Tony pulled out two ice cream sandwiches and tossed one to the Doctor. “Neapolitan okay?” 

“Lovely. Thanks.”

“So, there was something I wanted to ask you about,” Tony said when they were halfway through their ice cream.

“Yes?”

“You heard that we went to the Moon, right?”

“I did,” the Doctor said. “River and Clint told me all about it. I’m sorry I missed it, but there were extenuating circumstances and I didn’t get their messages until it was too late.”

Tony paused mid-bite and made a face. “But you’re a time traveler.”

“Well, it’s. . .” The Doctor made a broad, circular gesture with the hand holding his ice cream sandwich. “Timey wimey. The intricacies of time travel are hard to explain, even when you live it. At any rate, yes, I heard about it. It sounds as if the Avengers handled the Judoon quite well.”

“Yeah, the Judoon were actually the thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Tony said. “Do you know much about them?”

“A fair amount. What’s your area of curiosity?”

“Their tech,” Tony replied. “I’m interested in their scanners, the ones that they use to tell different species apart. How do you fool them?”

“’Fool them’? What do you mean ‘fool them’?”

“Didn’t Song tell you? That was her big distraction while I was out getting the H2O scoop. She let the Judoon scan her.”

“I’m not quite sure I follow,” the Doctor said. “River fooled their scanner somehow?”

Even if she had managed such a thing, the Doctor couldn’t imagine why or to what purpose, or how it would have been any sort of distraction.

“Her results came back _not human._ At least not completely human.” Tony balled up his ice cream wrapper and lobbed it neatly into the wastepaper bin. “So, the Judoon had to get down to brass tacks trying to figure out exactly what she was, which kept them occupied for a while. But she’s not sharing how she fooled the scanner, and if there’s a way to trick that kind of alien tech I want to know what it is.”

Tony couldn’t have known that he’d unwittingly stumbled into the middle of a puzzle that the Doctor himself had been trying to solve for some time now. 

“She didn’t fool anything,” the Doctor said. “The Judoon’s scan was accurate.”

The Doctor had known that River was something a little other than human since he’d first met her. His sonic screwdriver hadn’t been able to classify her. Even the TARDIS’s onboard scanners had come back with a result of _inconclusive._

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Huh.” He turned to the sink and washed the ice cream smears off his hands. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” the Doctor said. Honestly, he’d expected a little more shock. 

“You know, when I first met Song she was posing as an employee of my company and she hoodwinked me into hiring her as my personal assistant. There’s very little about that woman that _would_ surprise me.” Tony dried his hands and turned back to the Doctor. “The way I figured it, there were two options. Either she fooled the scanner or she didn’t. I was hoping for Option A, because that could have possibly led to a slight technological edge over the, I’m going to go with _hoards_ of potentially hostile aliens out there. But she was being so coy about the whole thing, I figured there was a chance it was Option B.”

“And how do you feel about Option B?” the Doctor asked.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Tony had been, as humans put it, _dealing with some issues_ since the Chitauri attack.

Tony shrugged. “Thor’s not human and aside from the cape fetish he’s okay. You’re all right as far as I can tell. So, did your people mix with humans a lot?”

“I’m sorry. You’ve lost me again.”

This time Tony did look a little surprised. “That’s what the Judoon said that she was. Human and Time Lord. Clearly that implies. . .you didn’t know that part, did you?”

“No,” the Doctor replied. “No, I didn’t.”

The Doctor slid off the counter and left the kitchen. He thought that Tony might have called something after him, but his mind was already focused elsewhere.

He wandered out into the main part of the penthouse, on a circuitous route to this TARDIS. He spotted River standing with Clint by the windows looking out over the city. The two were clearly in the middle of a semi-private moment; as the Doctor watched, Clint tucked a lock of River’s hair behind her ear, then bent forward to kiss her cheek. River’s downcast eyes looked demure, but her wide smile was pure happiness.

It made the Doctor smile himself, and it made him wonder. Human and Time Lord? Was it possible? Was River some sort of hybrid of the two races? The Doctor had danced with the idea several times before. River could write in Gallifreyan. She could fly the TARDIS. She was versed in the rules of Time and Space. Obviously, there was _some_ connection between her and the Time Lords. 

There had been times, when the Doctor had found himself trapped in a certain mood between loneliness and hopefulness, when he wondered if he really was the only one of his kind to have survived the Time War. Surely there could have been others, couldn’t there? Refugees from the war, Time Lords who had managed to escape from the conflict and leave Gallifrey and all that it had come to stand for far, far behind.

Some of them could have quietly settled on Earth. It would have been a logical place. Time Lords and humans looked alike, at least outwardly. And Earth was a very pleasant place by Gallifreyan standards. They could have built lives here. They could have even worked out how to interbreed with humans. Time Lords were clever. It was practically their defining trait. They could have taught their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren about their Gallifreyan heritage. 

Maybe that was River’s story. Human and Time Lord. It was a nice idea, the Doctor thought. It _could_ be true. It would even explain why River had distrusted him so much in the beginning. She had tried to mask it, but the Doctor had been able tell. He was the man who’d wiped out the Time Lords. Of course those hypothetical survivors and their hypothetical descendants would hate him.

The Doctor wove on through the throng of people and pushed open the door to the TARDIS.

“Well, if that’s the case,” he said as he entered, starting his conversation with his ship in the middle, “you’ve been holding out on me. If anyone should be able to spot a Time Lord, even a part-Time Lord. . .”

The Doctor trailed off, frowning as he noticed the lights on the ceiling, flashing madly in some sort of strange sequence. That was curious. The Doctor ran up the steps to the control console and pulled up a diagnostic screen, trying to figure out what was going on.

When the Doctor realized what he was seeing in the lines of code, he nearly choked. “Oh. Oh _my.”_ He quickly backtracked down the stairs, re-joined the party, and went looking for his host.

He found Tony talking to a group of important looking people. “Mr. Stark!” Tony turned, looking startled. “I need to have a word with you about your A.I.”

“Jarvis?” Tony said. “What about Jarvis?”

“He is. . .” The Doctor forced himself to lower his voice, “. . . _flirting_ with my TARDIS.”

“Come again?”

“Oh, for--” The Doctor grabbed Tony by the forearm and dragged him back to the TARDIS. Once inside, he pointed at the ceiling. “I didn’t even know she had lights up there.”

There was a strange snorting sound and the Doctor turned to find Tony Stark doubled over laughing.

“This is a serious matter. She’s a lady and I won’t have her talked to like that.”

Tony managed to unfold himself, but he was still grinning from ear-to-ear. “Yeah, well, what can I say? He’s a growing boy.”

The Doctor had a retort for that all lined up, but he was distracted by the ceiling again. The light show was starting to take on a distinctly Studio 54 vibe. 

“You know, if the kids are getting friendly, maybe we should give them some privacy,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around the Doctor’s shoulders and steering him back to the door. “Come on, Doctor. Back to the party.”

As they left the Doctor was pretty sure that he heard the TARDIS’s door lock behind them with a decided click. It was probably just as well, he thought, that the party still had hours to go.

*****

Meg Downing had begun in her trade as a spy by learning how to simply watch and listen. It was a skill that was both second nature and still useful, even after all these years. Technology and gadgetry came and went and upgraded and streamlined, but they could never replace a sharp pair of eyes and ears.

 _You sound like an old woman, Meg Downing._ That was appropriate enough, though. Meg _was_ an old woman. There was no point in pussyfooting around that fact.

The main party had ended and most of the guests had departed hours ago. This, the afterparty, was a private affair, just the Avengers and the inner circle. They’d welcomed Phillip Coulson back to work and belatedly celebrated Steve’s birthday. Steve had rolled his eyes at the candle gag, but had also smiled with (if Meg was any judge) genuine appreciation. He’d pointedly blown all the candles out with one long, sustained breath. He’d even gamely worn the party hat that the Doctor had magically produced.

Now Anthony was attempting to talk his new teammates into collectively moving into Stark Tower. 

“Come on, it would be great!” he said. “I’m thinking individual floors for each Avenger. Well, Barton and Song could share, of course. I can build specialized training facilities. I could convert one of the R&D floors into a hanger for a modified quinjet. If shit hits the fan, we could scramble in five minutes.”

“Sort of like a grown up, high-tech clubhouse,” Amelia commented.

“Exactly,” Anthony replied. “And think of the bonding! Pizza and movie marathons every night.”

Anthony was being careful to make it clear that he was speaking in jest, but Meg knew the boy well enough to know that he would love a set-up like the one he was describing. Not for the first time, Meg thought that Anthony might have benefited greatly from a sibling or two. 

Eventually the party hit a lull, as parties were wont to do. People got up to visit the restroom or refill drinks, or just to stretch their legs. Virginia retreated to the kitchen to put another pot of coffee on. Steve, Rory, and Clinton started gathering up the discarded cake plates. 

Meg took the opportunity to slip out onto the patio. “I’m just nipping out for a bit of air,” she said to Anthony when he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

As soon as she was outside and alone, Meg drew a deep breath, feeling her shoulders loosen. Keeping up a front was tiring, even for someone as well-practiced as she was. 

She walked to the edge of the patio, looking out over the city. Meg leaned her cane against the railing and reached into the inner pocket of her suit jacket, pulling out a delicate silver cigarette case and lighter. It was an old vice, this, and one that she had, for all intents and purposes, given up decades ago. But she still always carried the case and lighter. Julien had given them to her, and that made them talismans of sorts.

Besides, sometimes (once every few years or so) Meg just needed a cigarette. This was one of those times.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” Nicholas said, stepping up beside her.

Meg snorted, blowing two delicate streams of smoke out of her nose. “You’re far from the first person to tell me that,” she said. “They haven’t managed it yet. Besides, at my age, anything that can kill me deserves the win.”

“I’d like to see the thing that dared to try.” Nicholas turned so that he could lean back against the railing. “So, what’s the occasion?”

Nicholas knew her habits well. Well enough to know that the last time she’d smoked had been the day three years ago when the Doctor had first shown his face at SHIELD. 

“Amelia’s time is getting close,” she replied.

Nicholas didn’t have to ask what time she was referring to. He’d been thoroughly briefed on this situation. And he knew better than to ask if Meg was sure.

“How long do you think?” 

“A matter of weeks, I’d say. A month or two at the most,” she said. “Of course, with time displacements in the mix, it’s hard to predict, but soon. We’ll need to be prepared on our end.”

“Yeah.” 

Meg glanced over at Fury. He was frowning and looking back toward the penthouse. Meg turned to see what had caught his attention.

Amelia and Rory were standing framed in one of the windows. Backlit as they were by the light from inside the penthouse, they looked like the end scene from an old romantic movie. 

“She really doesn’t know?” Nicholas asked.

“Oh, she knows. It’s all there at the back of her mind. But certain precautions prevent her from acting on it. She can’t even acknowledge it, to herself or anyone else.”

Fury shook his head. “That’s fucked up.”

“That’s the world we live in, Nicholas. It’s nothing new.”

Nicholas turned his good eye back on her again. “Are you all right?”

Meg took her time taking a drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly. “I’ve had plenty to time to prepare for what’s coming.”

Not only Demons Run, but all that was to follow.

Nicholas let her non-answer slide by without question. They stood in silence, looking out over the city. It was still dark in places—rebuilding from the Chitauri attack was still in the early stages. Meg finished her cigarette, tamped it out on the railing, and flipped it out into the night.

“We should go back inside. Put on your party face, Nicholas.”

They’d be ready for trouble when it came. For tonight they could put it off for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Our fearless heroes are coming up fast on the Battle of Demons Run. Stay tuned, and thank you for reading!


End file.
